VStephen Lane strode into the room with his usual vigour.

Weston said:

“I’m the Chief Constable of the County, Mr. Lane. I suppose you’ve been told what hasoccurred here?”

“Yes—oh yes—I heard as soon as I got here. Terrible… Terrible…” His thin frame quivered.

He said in a low voice: “All along—ever since I arrived here—I have been conscious—veryconscious—of the forces of evil close at hand.”

His eyes, burning eager eyes, went to Hercule Poirot.

He said:

“You remember, M. Poirot? Our conversation some days ago? About the reality of evil?”

Weston was studying the tall, gaunt figure in some perplexity. He found it difficult to make thisman out. Lane’s eyes came back to him. The clergyman said with a slight smile:

“I dare say that seems fantastic to you, sir. We have left off believing in evil in these days. Wehave abolished Hell fire! We no longer believe in the Devil! But Satan and Satan’s emissarieswere never more powerful than they are today!”

Weston said:

“Er—er—yes, perhaps. That, Mr. Lane, is your province. Mine is more prosaic—to clear up acase of murder.”

Stephen Lane said:

“An awful word. Murder! One of the earliest sins known on earth—the ruthless shedding of aninnocent brother’s blood…” He paused, his eyes half closed. Then, in a more ordinary voice hesaid:

“In what way can I help you?”

“First of all, Mr. Lane, will you tell me your own movements today?”

“Willingly. I started off early on one of my usual tramps. I am fond of walking. I have roamedover a good deal of the countryside round here. Today I went to St. Petrock-in-the-Combe. That isabout seven miles from here—a very pleasant walk along winding lanes, up and down the Devonhills and valleys. I took some lunch with me and ate it in a spinney. I visited the church—it hassome fragments—only fragments alas, of early glass—also a very interesting painted screen.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lane. Did you meet anyone on your walk?”

“Not to speak to. A cart passed me once and a couple of boys on bicycles and some cows.

However,” he smiled, “if you want proof of my statement, I wrote my name in the book at thechurch. You will find it there.”

“You did not see anyone at the church itself—the Vicar, or the verger?”

Stephen Lane shook his head. He said:

“No, there was no one about and I was the only visitor. St. Petrock is a very remote spot. Thevillage itself lies on the far side of it about half a mile farther on.”

Colonel Weston said pleasantly:

“You mustn’t think we’re — er — doubting what you say. Just a matter of checking up oneverybody. Just routine, you know, routine. Have to stick to routine in cases of this kind.”

Stephen Lane said gently:

“Oh yes, I quite understand.”

Weston went on:

“Now the next point. Is there anything you know that would assist us at all? Anything about thedead woman? Anything that could give us a pointer as to who murdered her? Anything you heardor saw?”

Stephen Lane said:

“I heard nothing. All I can tell you is this: that I knew instinctively as soon as I saw her thatArlena Marshall was a focus of evil. She was Evil! Evil personified! Woman can be man’s helpand inspiration in life—she can also be man’s downfall. She can drag a man down to the level ofthe beast. The dead woman was just such a woman. She appealed to everything base in a man’snature. She was a woman such as Jezebel and Aholibah. Now—she has been struck down in themiddle of her wickedness!”

Hercule Poirot stirred. He said:

“Not struck down—strangled! Strangled, Mr. Lane, by a pair of human hands.”

The clergyman’s own hands trembled. The fingers writhed and twitched. He said, and his voicecame low and choked:

“That’s horrible—horrible—Must you put it like that?”

Hercule Poirot said:

“It is the simple truth. Have you any idea, Mr. Lane, whose hands those were?”

The other shook his head. He said: “I know nothing—nothing….”

Weston got up. He said, after a glance at Colgate to which the latter replied by an almostimperceptible nod, “Well, we must get on to the Cove.”

Lane said:

“Is that where—it happened?”

Weston nodded.

Lane said:

“Can—can I come with you?”

About to return a curt negative, Weston was forestalled by Poirot.

“But certainly,” said Poirot. “Accompany me there in a boat, Mr. Lane. We start immediately.”